


Alone in the Darkness

by eyerite



Series: Snapetober 2020 [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Day 7, Nightmares, Snapetober 2020, if anyone disagrees: let me know and I'll change the rating, there are some descriptions of violence in this but I don't think they're too graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26875666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyerite/pseuds/eyerite
Summary: Severus is fine. So what if he has nightmares? So what if he feels alone sometimes? He's perfectly alright. So why doesn't he believe that himself?
Series: Snapetober 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952878
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13
Collections: Snapetober





	Alone in the Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there!
> 
> Can you believe it? I'm actually uploading on time!  
> I feel like our boy Snape is very sad and very alone all the time, and I think that takes a toll on him. So now you might be wondering whether that means I'll write him some comfort. The answer is no. Not today, at least. I just don't think he'd be the type of person who'd have any luck letting people in, so he's just gonna have to be alone for now.
> 
> Anyway, this is the aftermath of a nightmare. I hope you enjoy!

He tried to keep his voice calm as he replied to the Dark Lord, his eyes gliding over the Elder Wand. The pit of fear in his stomach - worry - grew with every passing second. The air in the Shack seemed to be sucked out, and Severus struggled to breathe.

He knew what was coming, suddenly. He was certain he would not be walking out of the Shack again, out into battle. His eyes flicked to Nagini, floating by her master’s side in her protective bubble. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the snake.

“No, my Lord, but I beg you will let me return. Let me find Potter.”

He didn’t even listen to the Dark Lord’s reply; he already knew the outcome. All he could do now, was stall for time. Every second he bought might save lives. He replied as if in a dream to every question - every statement - that the Dark Lord hissed at him.

The hissed words coiled around him threateningly, pulling tighter until Severus could barely move. He was trapped here, and he would die in this dusty old Shack - _years_ , he thought cynically, _after he had been supposed to_. Voldemort’s final command barely registered before the snake was at his throat, tearing into the flesh with vicious force.

* * *

Severus shot up in the darkness of his room. Cold sweat coated his skin and he was panting.

He pressed his palm to his forehead and took a deliberate breath before wiping at the sheen of sweat. He’d been having nightmares off and on his whole life - you’d think he’d have gotten used to the feeling. Somehow it never seemed to work that way.

He forced the tension out of his body slowly, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his head on them.

He hated this feeling; the disorientation and feeling of weakness didn’t sit well with him, and he was thankful that he was alone.

Not that there’d been a possibility of anyone else being present to witness his state; he’d been alone for a long time, and no one ever managed to get close enough to begin to care about him. Not after Lily, anyway. He cut that thought off immediately.

The scars that were still clearly visible on his neck throbbed and stung. The memory of what should have been his death always seemed to breathe new life into those old sensations. He rubbed at the tender tissue gently to smooth the discomfort away.

His nightmares hadn’t always been memories. When he was younger, they’d been abstract situations formed from an amalgamation of things he was afraid of. He didn’t know which ones he preferred.

After sitting on his bed for a few minutes, he raised his head and looked around the room. The sweat was drying on his skin and he felt disgusting. He debated taking a shower to wash the remnants of the memory-nightmare away; he wouldn’t be falling asleep again anytime soon anyway.

It was early - about three in the morning - and the darkness still clung to everything. The shadows seemed suspended in time, captive in the motionless light streaming in from his porch light outside.

Everything seemed frozen in time.

He shivered.

After getting up, he walked into his bathroom, turning on the shower and shucking his nightclothes before stepping into the stream of hot water rushing down. The warmth washed away the tension in his back and shoulders and soaked into his muscles, leaving a pleasant feeling behind.

He just stood there for a while - he didn’t know exactly how long - before picking up his soap and shampoo and setting to work washing his body and hair. He dug his bony fingers a bit deeper into the problem areas on his back, where the muscles would often develop knots and tension without him realizing until it was too late and he already had a pounding headache. He sighed as he watched the lather be washed down the drain by the water. He turned the tap off. The cold immediately seeped back in.

He wondered why it was that a chill seemed to settle into his bones so much more easily than any type of warmth. Perhaps it was loneliness. Perhaps it was because he lived the sorry existence of a misanthrope who shunned any and all human interaction while deeply craving it at the same time.

He was always relieved when he woke from his nightmares alone with no one there to mock him or take advantage of his fragile state, but he wondered how much more bearable it would be to have someone there to comfort him. Someone he trusted entirely. To not be alone in the darkness, but to be able to sink into the warm embrace of another person and not have to bear his past and his traumas alone, if even for a fraction of a second. He wondered if such a thing was even possible.

Perhaps he was already too far gone. Too used to being alone. Too used to pushing people away. He doubted he could unlearn his instinctive reactions to people coming too close; his sharp tongue and biting comments.

He shivered again, pulling a new set of nightclothes out from a drawer and slipping them on. 

No. Perhaps he’d be better off living the life he had made for himself than wondering what it’d be like to have a different one. He was who he was. Who he had become over the years, his entire miserable life. He’d survived certain death more times than was reasonable, and perhaps he should just be thankful for that, rather than desire even more.

Every time he asked for more, after all, fate had a sadistic way of punishing that desire. Nipping it in the bud. He’d just live like he was now, alone and - for the most part - content. He had a little garden, a potions lab, enough money and food on the table. He could deal with the occasional nightmare on his own. Even if they _had_ become more frequent lately. He’d just suck it up.

So what if the loneliness at night became crushing at times? So what if he woke up screaming and crying from dreams that shook him to the core? So what if it took him longer to recover from bad dreams every time? He’d be fine.

He didn’t need anyone. Being alone in the dark was enough. It was preferable, even.

So why didn’t he believe any of that?

**Author's Note:**

> I've noticed that copying the text to ao3 sometimes messes up my formatting, so I apologize if there are any commas or periods that have extra space around them. Just pretend that you didn't see it lol
> 
> See ya in the next one!


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